


The Right Recipe

by nightfalltwen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfalltwen/pseuds/nightfalltwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Preparing for the St. Mungo's Annual bazaar is only the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Recipe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2011 **smutty_claus**. Yay! I finally get to use **mysteryrecipes** , a journal I created for **smutty_claus** last year, but never got around to using. I know they're biscuits and fairy cakes in the UK, do overlook that on the recipe blog. There are more recipes posted there than appear in this fic and they're not all mine, most are ones that were clipped and stored in my recipe binder so I don't recall their origins. Feel free to have a peek. Special thank you to my superstar Beta Reader and a very merry Christmas to you, **coffee_n_cocoa**!

**[Gingerbread](http://mysteryrecipes.livejournal.com/3307.html)**

_Saturday, 3 December, 2005_

"Alright," said Lavender, plopping a large book on the kitchen table. "I've got all the recipes marked with tabs. We're going to start with the gingerbread and go from there."

Neville dropped the cover he'd just started to lift up and the book made a bit of a fwump sound. His stomach bottomed out and a nervous sort of twitch started just beside his left eye. Baking. Oh, Lord. _Baking_. Doing things in the kitchen wasn't an alien concept per se. Neville, like any good bloke in his twenties, could keep himself alive with your basic cooking skills. He did a very mean beans on toast or eggy in a basket. He could also wield the local takeaway menus like a pro, but baking... baking was like potions class. And potions was not something he was truly adept at doing. Not without at least three or four disasters before completion.

"And you can stop looking like I've just asked you to de-bone a flobberworm." Lavender wasn't even looking up from the supplies she'd started to spread out on the counter. How had she known?

"What?" Neville's attention snapped back to the present and away from memories of cauldrons melting and detentions because of it. Before he could point out that flobberworms didn't exactly _have_ bones, he realised that Lavender had turned and grabbed a wooden spoon from her container of utensils and was now standing there with her hands on her hips. He looked from her face to the spoon which he thought could do quite a bit of damage if she put her mind to it. Neville gave her a hesitant smile and half-heartedly waved his hand at the thick tome of recipes in front of him. "I dunno, Lavender. I'm not very good at this sort of thing. You might have less trouble without me."

Lavender huffed and shook the large spoon at him menacingly. "Neville Longbottom don't you dare chicken out on me. I have a thousand biscuits, fairy cakes and muffins to make for this fundraiser and you _promised_ that you'd help me."

Neville rubbed the back of his neck. She was right. No mention of baking when she'd proposed for him to help her out with a project. But she was right. He had promised to help.

The St Mungo's bazaar was held every year during the second week of December. Items sold, especially for the Janus Thickey ward, were either donated by families of residents or prior patients or made by the patients themselves. As far as Neville knew, Lavender had been involved with it every year following her recovery after the battle of Hogwarts. This was, he recalled, the first time she'd ever been involved with the bake sale aspect of the bazaar. Or at least he'd been too busy with the auror training program at the Ministry to realise what was going on around him.

"Alright. But I did warn you."

***

"A ha!" Neville, armed with oven mitts that looked like chickens, their mouths poised to scoop up whatever you'd baked in the oven, turned around with two hot trays that were laden with perfectly cooked gingerbread men. "A perfect batch yet again." He looked over his shoulder at the oven and narrowed his eyes. "Neville Longbottom, the slayer of snakes, has thwarted you, Gas Mark Four. Victory, as they say, is mine."

"We do have shortbread, pumpkin fairy-cakes and orange-cranberry muffins to make, you realise," Lavender said with a laugh as she slid another biscuit onto a cooled tray, preparing it for the oven.

"Quiet, wench," Neville said, resting the hot trays on a rack and shaking an oven-mitt chicken at her. "I spent seven years failing at potions. Let me have my victory with baking."

"Wench?" Lavender raised an eyebrow and turned to him.

"It makes me feel all manly," Neville used a metal flippy thing that he didn't know the name for to slide the hot gingerbread off one tray and onto the cooling rack, where it joined others that had already gone through a trip in the oven.

"Says the man with chickens on his hands," Lavender reached over and smeared a flour-dusted finger over his nose.

"Oi!" Neville shook off one of the mitts and wiped his nose with his finger then had to turn away from the biscuits and sneeze. He looked back at her with narrowed eyes and then picked up a dish of hundreds and thousands that they were going to use to decorate the gingerbread. Lavender took two steps back from him and put up her hands.

"Don't even think of throwing those. My kitchen is messy enough."

He would have pointed out that all she needed to do was cast a quick spell to clean her kitchen, but he stopped short. She didn't clean with magic. She didn't do anything with magic. That was the thing with werewolf injuries that were as severe as hers had been. Unlike people like Bill Weasley, who'd suffered only minor scratches and were left with a taste for rare meat, Lavender's injuries had been much worse. And unlike those who could actually change and were wizards for all but three days out of the month, her infection left her with something that was tangled up with actual transformation. Her magic was unpredictable and she was often on the docket for incidents with the Magical Reversal Squad through no fault of her own. He remembered the day that she'd, by order of the Ministry, turned in her wand and he'd often gone with her to the Ministry to report during full moons.

It was why they were cooking the Muggle way. It was why he'd come to her instead of the other way around. 

Neville sat down the dish of decorative candy then scooped up a tiny bit of flour from the canister, flicking a puff of white at her instead. He offered her a smile and grabbed one of the mitts. Now certainly wasn't the time to dwell on things that were out of both of their control.

Lavender hadn't seemed to notice his sudden spiral into deep thought or she had chosen to ignore it. In any case, she held out the last tray of gingerbread ready for the oven. He watched her for a moment as she turned to pick up the large mixing bowl that they'd washed while waiting for the last batch of biscuits to cook. Wiping it down with a towel she looked over at him and smiled. Neville put the tray into the oven and then turned the wind-up egg timer they were using to the right amount of minutes. Why he hadn't had one of these in potions class, he didn't know. But it would have been dead useful instead of him trying to remember just how long each ingredient had been in the mixture.

"We should do this more often," she said, reaching for the recipe book.

"Baking? Are you thinking of starting up a bakery or something?" Neville dipped a gumdrop into some royal icing and stuck it to the front of one of the gingerbread men.

"No." Lavender said slowly and then looked at him for a long moment. "I meant you and me. Doing things together. I've enjoyed this."

"We should," Neville agreed with a grin. "Maybe we could get the whole gang together and have some kind of party. All the DA members kicking around. It'd be nice to see everyone in one place. Something like that."

Lavender went silent for a moment and there was something in her expression that confused Neville. Disappointment? That didn't make sense. He'd just agreed to what she'd been suggesting, hadn't he? And having the group of them together was a _good_ idea. He hadn't seen much of Dumbledore's Army since leaving school. People had either left England or were busy with their own careers. Luna was off bashing around South America last he heard and Harry, Ron and Hermione were up to something that he never really could catch wind of. Department of Mystery folks could be so touchy about their work projects. Really.

"Yeah," she said finally, measuring out a cup of softened butter. "Something like that."

**[Sticky Toffee Pudding](http://mysteryrecipes.livejournal.com/3605.html)**

_Wednesday, 7 December, 2005_

"Should I tell him, or do you want the honours?" Seamus rolled his eyes and dug a spoon into the pudding that the waitress had just sat in front of him.

Dean snorted a laugh into his butterbeer then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking his head with a grin. "You're the one who dated her after Ron. You might have better translation skills than me, mate."

Neville was beginning to think that saying yes to Seamus and Dean's offer of lunch and conversation up at Hogsmeade had been a poor choice. He frowned briefly, not at all appreciating having the mickey taken out of him before they'd even finished afters and reconsidered his decision to tell Seamus and Dean about spending the afternoon baking with Lavender. The afternoon had turned a bit strange part way through and Neville had thought that recounting it with his friends he'd be able to figure out what had happened. After all, he'd thought that getting together with all of their friends would be a good thing and figured that Lavender felt the same way.

Apparently she hadn't because the baking afternoon had become much more technical and less of the 'tossing flour' and 'teasing with gumdrops' sort.

"I fail to see how you two having a conversation in some sort of secret code is going to explain why her mood shifted that drastically." Neville scraped a blob of toffee sauce off his own plate and tasted it.

Seamus set his spoon on the side of the plate and leaned over to smack the back of Neville's head lightly. "She wanted you to ask her out," he said in a tone of voice that one might use with a small child attempting to learn to tie his trainers for the first time. 

It was Neville's turn to snort into his butterbeer. Only this time it was not from laughter but complete and utter confusion and surprise. Not to mention he'd been taking a swig the moment that Seamus had thwapped him. A coughing fit followed. "She did not," he wheezed.  
It was absurd. Someone like Lavender wouldn't go for someone like him. They were good friends and sure he thought she was pretty, but he couldn't possibly be her type. Clenching his jaw, he looked first from Seamus and then to Dean. Both were grinning like a pair of idiots. If they had been anyone but two of his best friends, he would have tossed his drink in their faces. But they were his best friends. They were his housemates. He'd known them since they were eleven, and he expected this sort of behaviour. Unfortunately.

"You're mad. The pair of you," he said finally, running his hands through his hair and suddenly felt like he was sixteen instead of twenty-five, bumbling his way around girls as he had when he was a teenager.

"If you say so, mate," said Dean, shaking his head. "But we're not the ones Lavender is asking to help her with baking, now, are we?"

**[Pumpkin Fairy Cakes](http://mysteryrecipes.livejournal.com/2900.html)**

_Saturday, 17 December, 2005_

Under the supervision of the severe-looking woman who ran the canteen, Neville placed the last of the leftover fairy cakes on the display turnstile and gave it a little spin. There were only a few things left from the bake sale. Some cakes, some biscuits and two pies that hadn't sold. At least they hadn't sold this afternoon. They would probably sell to those hitting up the canteen after visiting their family. So in the end everything would help in some way or another.

Taking the day off from work to lend a hand during the bazaar had been a good decision, in Neville's opinion. He'd gotten to spend some time with his mum and dad and he'd gotten to see just how much Lavender had really put into the whole event. In past years he'd avoided this particular Saturday. If only for the fact that there had always been too many people. It was especially bad after the Battle of Hogwarts. Too much "oh my gosh, it's Neville Longbottom!" and "oh my gosh, there are his parents!" and far too many pitying looks. He'd hated it.

Dropping a few sickles into the canteen witch's hand, Neville snagged another cake and began to peel off the wrapper.

"If you eat one more of those, the Ministry is going to sack you for going soft about the middle," Lavender said with a laugh and poked his stomach as she set down the last pie that hadn't sold. "Isn't that the third one you've had today?" Her attention went briefly to the older woman. "That's it, Ethel. Not as much as last year."

The witch waved them off with a smile and Lavender brought her attention back to him. She seemed to almost glow with pride and he suspected that this had been her most successful bazaar ever. Her gaze dropped back to the cake in his hand and Neville dropped the paper wrapper in a bin before taking a big bite, a cheeky smile on his face. He patted his stomach and made 'mmmmm' noises.

"The demise of my career will undoubtedly be worth it. This was a very good cause indeed."

She rolled her eyes and prodded his stomach again with a laugh. They'd been playful like this all day. Whatever awkwardness there had been from before was gone. He'd have to tell Seamus and Dean that they'd been wrong and they didn't know anything about what the friendship was like between himself and Lavender Brown. Maybe he'd smack Seamus on the back of the head and tell him he was a pillock. Yes. That seemed like the perfect retaliation.

"So what are your plans for Christmas?" Lavender asked, looping her arm with his.

"Probably going to be on duty," Neville answered, licking the icing from his thumb and finger. A frown appeared. "Just about everyone in the department who has kids or a spouse has asked for the day off. Since I have neither... I drew the short straw."

"But you have your parents," Lavender protested.

"S'alright, Lavender. I can visit them on Boxing Day. They won't mind so much."

She went silent for a moment, one of those 'thoughtful Lavender' expressions on her face. It was part plotting and part disapproval. He reached out and tapped her nose to break her concentration. The expression vanished and, blinking, she looked at him. There was something to be said for standing so close to Lavender Brown. And something to be said for not being dead from the waist down. Neville could at least appreciate that she was a pretty woman. She had warm brown eyes that were flecked with something, perhaps almost a different shade of brown or something interesting like that, and they were always shining.

He didn't mind looking. No he did not.

"We should have dinner," she said.

Neville stumbled a bit as he walked, taken off guard by the statement and his cheeks went warm because he was sure she could tell what he'd just been thinking about. Lavender had always had a second sense for that sort of thing. He shook his head and cleared away the thoughts that he needed to stop entertaining. He smiled at her. "We do. The Leaky's not too far from here. And maybe they've made the stew they had yesterday again. It was brilliant."

The expression that had been on her face before suddenly reappeared. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'go home, dress nice, dinner with candles and table cloths' instead of stew at the Leaky," she said. "A date."

"Date?" Neville blurted out.

"I don't see why not," Lavender said slowly. "It could be interesting."

"But... you're you," Neville stammered. "And I'm... I'm me."

Immediately after the words had left his mouth, Neville knew he'd said the wrong thing. Her cheeks flushed and there was suddenly a very hard look in her eyes. She slid her arm out from around his and paused, looking directly at him. A cold sort of magic crackled around the room and Neville knew that she was suddenly not in direct control of herself and he took a step back as well. She rounded on him.

"I'm me? I'm what, Neville? Not a good witch? Not a werewolf? Some sort of hybrid that can't do anything?" she asked angrily, swiping at her eyes and before he could get a word in edgewise, she continued. "You're too good for me? Is that it? I thought you were different . I thought you weren't like everyone else who gives me strange looks and pities me or thinks they're better than me. I might not have saved the world, but I fought in the war too, you know!"

Neville put up his hands. "That's not what I'm saying at all, Lavender. I just thought..."

"It doesn't matter," she said with a frown and opened her purse, taking out some of that strange paper money that muggles favoured. "Just... forget I asked. I'll see you around."

And she stormed off, leaving him in the corridor without a chance to explain himself.

"Bloody hell," Neville muttered and shoved his hands into his hair.

**[Cream Scones](http://mysteryrecipes.livejournal.com/710.html)**

_Sunday, 25 December, 2005_

"You can go visit your folks, Longbottom," said Mycroft Stanton, carrying a steaming cup of tea towards his office. Neville had always been amused by this man. The burly, senior auror, and Neville's direct superior, could scare any criminal until he was a blubbering mess on the floor, but was the _only_ scary man that Neville knew who still drank his tea from a proper china cup and saucer. The dainty cup always seemed out of place and yet so very perfect.

"Sir?"

"Jendrick and Pempley are here," he said, gesturing to the other two aurors on Christmas duty who were currently tossing a quaffle back and forth between them. Really tough auror work, of course. "There hasn't been an incident all day. You've got a family to visit. We all know this."

"Are you sure, sir?"

The older man raised a bushy eyebrow. "Don't make me rethink saying no to Pemply's request to visit his cousin's sister's best friend's uncle's neighbour or whatever excuse he was trying to come up with in order to leave and dive into a barrel of firewhiskey, Longbottom. Get scarce. And Happy Christmas."

Neville didn't have to be told a third time. He grabbed his cloak and scarf and grinned stupidly at Stanton before wishing everyone a hurried 'Happy Christmas'. Dashing down the corridor, he headed for the lift that would take him to the rows of fireplaces that would allow him to Floo directly to St. Mungo's. It had been a couple of years that he'd been able to spend time with his mum and dad on Christmas day. It would definitely be one of the only plusses of the holiday this year because he was still trying to figure out a way to get back into Lavender's good graces. At least so they could be friends again. He missed her and she was refusing all of his owls.

She'd even sent back the apology chocolate he'd picked out for her. Who turns away chocolate?

Because the Auror department was a twenty-four hour, seven day a week, three hundred and sixty-five day a year operation, it was the only department at the Ministry that had people actually in the building. The corridors were empty and thus Neville didn't have to do things like wait for a lift or step around people carrying boxes or stand aside for someone trying to come in the door that he was trying to exit. So he made it to the Atrium in record time, grabbed a handful of powder and stepped into the fireplace, calling for St Mungo's.

In an instant he was whisked off to the hospital.

It took a few moments of cleaning his robes once he'd arrived before Neville was permitted to go up to the Janus Thickey ward. Hospitals and their rules about cleanliness, of course. After stopping very briefly at the Hospital's gift shop, Neville took the stairs two at a time, carrying a box of cream scones for his dad and a bag of sweets in his pocket that his mum would enjoy. As he approached the room, Neville could hear a voice and his purposeful stride slowed to a careful approach. At first his reaction was that of irritation. People weren't supposed to attempt to visit his parents without either his permission or supervision, which he never gave.

But the voice belonged to someone who wasn't merely 'people' and Neville found himself hesitating at the door when he realised who it was and stood there to watch.

"And then he said "well you're you and I'm me" and I don't think I've ever been so angry in my entire life. I just wish he'd realise just how much I really do fancy him and that my injuries shouldn't have anything to do with anything. You know?"

Lavender sat with her legs crossed in front of Alice and facing the wall. Neville watched as his mum drew a brush through Lavender's long hair from the top of her head down to the very ends, looking very focused as she worked on a stubborn tangle at the bottom before setting the brush aside and parting the strands into sections so she could braid it into plaits. Neville had never seen his mother so determined to complete something and there she was, putting plaits into Lavender's hair. They might have been a little lopsided and it was definitely more than one, but Lavender didn't seem to mind in the slightest and she continued with her conversation as if Alice were an active participant.

"But now I feel bad because I stormed off and I haven't been talking to him because I was so cross and I sent back everything he sent me because I was in such a strop... but now I don't know how to start talking to him again..."

It made his throat tighten up. There weren't many people in the world who treated his parents like people instead of casualties.

Frank made a noise, pointing at Neville, that interrupted the two women. Lavender's words and Alice's hands both faltered. Lavender turned and her face went scarlet as she scooted to the edge of the bed, standing up. Her hands rose to undo one of the plaits. Alice, who had turned much slower, frowned and began to tug at the hem of Lavender's blouse, making a noise of protest which stopped the unravelling. She shifted back and forth, looking as though she wanted to escape. Neville put up one hand and shook his head. Surprisingly she stayed where she was.

It only took a few minutes for the visit; he was at the end of visiting hours in any case. Neville gave the bag of sweets to his mum and gratefully took the wrapper she carefully tucked into his palm. They all had a scone and when it was over, he kissed her forehead, wishing her a Happy Christmas and clasped his dad's hand before stepping back. Boxing Day was his planned visit, so he wasn't too concerned about not having the chance to really stay with them for a long period of time.

Taking Lavender by the elbow, he led her into the corridor.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly once they were far enough down the corridor that their voices wouldn't carry into the Longbottom's room. "I felt bad that you had to work and they were going to be alone on Christmas and I used to come up here when I was recovering after the battle and spend time with them because they didn't look at me strangely. I should have asked first, but I've been cross with you for the last week and I wasn't ready to do any sort of owling and then I was and I didn't know what to say because I'd sent back everything else. So... well I just came because I could and I thought your mum and dad would appreciate the company...."

"Lavender." He turned to face her. "Shut up."

Cupping her cheeks, Neville pulled her close and kissed her. She meeped, truly meeped, against his lips and sagged a little so that it was almost his hands cupping her face that held her up. But that didn't last long because all at once, her arms had flung about his neck and she was pressing against him in all manner of rather brilliant ways.

Drawing back slightly, Neville rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed.

"No dates... but I'm allowed a snog?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah... about that. Forget I said what I said. It was dumb. I was talking about me being not up to your standards and you being out of my league. Maybe we can start over? Would you like to go out to dinner with me tonight?" He opened his eyes smiled at her.

Lavender thought for a moment and then shook her head. "No."

"Wait... wait what?" Neville asked, baffled.

"First. I have never, ever, been out of your league. Though you might have been out of mine. Second. It's Christmas, Neville. I can think of much better things to do than try and find the one or two Chinese takeaway places that are still open tonight." She took his hand and looked into his eyes. "My flat or yours?"

Neville's mouth suddenly felt as though it was full of pygmy puffs and he tried to swallow but couldn't. "I..."

"Neville," Lavender said sternly. "You kissed me. I fancy you. There's really not much else that we need to think about and I'd _really_ like to go to either your flat or mine right about now."

"Yours," he said quickly, comprehension dawning. His flat? His had dirty laundry in viewable places. He looked at her, his mind latching onto the one thing he knew to be quite true about the state of his living arrangement and probably the least embarrassing. "Mine has nothing but a jar of olives in the cupboard."

***

There had been a purpose to going to Lavender's house. In theory, she was more likely to have food in her cupboard and fridge than Neville and it seemed like the best place to find this mythical dinner with napkins and tablecloths. The theory was good. Sound. Lavender was a girl and, in his idea of how the world probably operated, he figured that she would be more prepared than him. But they never got to test that theory.

Or at least they never tried to test that theory because the moment they got to her flat, Neville was kissing her again.

Or she was kissing him.

He couldn't quite recall who started it, but they were sitting on her sofa, Lavender straddling his thighs, and his hands were tangled in her hair. She'd somehow found her way under his shirt, soft fingers against his skin and suddenly anything to do with food didn't really matter all that much in the slightest.

"Why didn't we do this sooner?" she asked, inhaling sharply when he pressed his lips to that soft skin just below her ear. He made a mental note. New favourite spot.

"Can't speak for you, Lavender, but my excuse is that I'm an idiot."

"Mmm you are," she agreed and he lifted his head to look at her. There was a cheeky smile on her face and her fingers slipped up his ribcage. "But I forgive you." She leaned close, her voice dropping a little lower. "I'll forgive you even more if you stay the night." Her lips brushed across his as she spoke and then she shifted to lean closer to his ear. "And even more if we don't sleep at all."

Neville was embarrassed to hear that the sound that was almost a mixture of a gurgle and a groan had actually come from him and he wanted to find a time turner and go back to the beginning of the month and literally kick his arse for not having the stones to ask her out properly. Stupid Seamus and Dean being right. Stupid him for not figuring this out sooner. Stupid him for doubting that she would like him this way because the motion of her hips against his proved entirely the opposite of that exact thought.

"You need to get off..."

"I plan to, actually. Isn't that amazing?" She said with a chuckle and kissed the spot just under his jaw.

"Me. You need to get off of me," Neville said, a strangled voice. "Or I'll be sleeping a lot sooner than you."

"Mmmm no..." Lavender sat back slightly, resting her weight on his knees instead of being pressed snugly against him. Slowly she undid each button of her blouse and then shrugged it off. Finding his hands, she slid them up her ribs to her breasts. She leaned forward against his palms with a playful smile. "I've got you just where I've wanted to have you, Neville Longbottom, and I don't plan on letting the opportunity get away now that I finally know that you're interested."

And he was interested. Interested in a very important and insistent way. A way that was very keen on making itself known. Loudly. Though perhaps the loudness was only in his mind and she couldn't hear it. Or at least that's what he hoped.

Good lord, this babbling inside his head was almost embarrassing. Thank god he was somehow able to keep it from tumbling from his lips.

Neville's hands moved to her back and he let out a surprised noise when he found no clasps and only smooth material. Alright, so he hadn't seen a bra in some time, but he was sure they were made with clasps in the back. Suddenly he could feel her shoulders shaking a bit and it wasn't long before he realised she was laughing at him. Without saying a word, a silly smile on her face, she found his hands and brought them back to the front and the little clasp that was between her breasts. A front clasp? How had he not dated anyone with bras such as these? It would have saved him endless floundering!

"We have a problem." He said, his voice husky as he undid the clasp and pushed the fabric aside. God, she was amazing. "I'm afraid that, yes, you've got me where you want me... but we both have trousers in the way. So you might have..."

The thought died on his lips just as he was about to tell her it would be easier to undress if she shifted off his lap. It died because she had his earlobe between her lips and was worrying it softly between her teeth. Neville's legs went all jelly-like and he tried to think of something that would keep him under some kind of control of himself. Thinking, however, was a higher brain function that was proving to be difficult, so he turned his head and focused on the decorated Christmas tree in the corner of the room. And it wasn't until she pressed his wand into his hand that he realised that there was a wonderful alternative.

"I hope you don't like these trousers..." he said. "I'm not very good at bringing them back after I've vanished them."

"I have others," she said with a grin and ran her fingers through his hair. A shiver ran down Neville's spine and he almost, _almost_ fumbled with his wand.

Perhaps literally. Perhaps figuratively.

Taking a deep breath, Neville vanished her trousers and then his. Two things happened. Lavender slid back down his knees to press flush against him and her mouth met his in a hungry kiss that he could only succumb to, kissing her back with equal fervor. He'd meant what he said earlier. He was an idiot for thinking that she would never be interested in someone like him. He was an idiot for not seeing this further. He was an idiot. Period.

Without thinking, his lips brushed against the scars on her neck and shoulder. Lavender sucked in a breath and went very still.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked, his eyes pinched shut and hoping with everything that he was that he hadn't.

"It's just... they're ugly..." she said, trying to distract him with a wriggle. It almost worked. Almost.

Nudging her back slightly, Neville cupped her cheeks and then slid his hands down from her face. His fingers lightly danced over the column of her neck, then the delicate skin over her collar bones, touching her scars and then moving further south. His thumbs traced slow circles around her nipples until she made a noise in the back of her throat and he watched as her pupils grew larger. Then his hands travelled again, over the soft skin of her waist and the little bump of her bellybutton. It stuck out slightly and he'd never actually seen something so entirely adorable before.

"You are beautiful, Lavender Brown." He said honestly, thumbs combing through the damp curls between her legs, watching as her eyelids flickered shut and her lips parted. "And I don't want to hear you think that you are anything but."

She didn't actually speak words to agree, but the sound that came from her as his thumbs slid over her, flicking over the little bundle of nerves, was more than enough to understand. He smiled and kissed her, one hand pulling away and cupping the back of her head, the other remaining between their bodies, teasing her and drawing more of those quivering sounds from her throat.

God, he loved her like this.

He loved her.

The thought exploded into his head like a thousand bludgers all at once and it almost sent him reeling. He loved her. He loved Lavender Brown. He'd loved her all this time. He'd wanted her all this time. Now he was having her and loving her and it was amazing and he couldn't see beyond the culmination of this night. It was so, so perfect. His head was foggy and somehow she seemed to know because she shifted and all at once he was feeling her in a way that he'd never felt her before, his whole entire _being_ was drawn in.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and nestled snugly against him, her breasts flattened against his chest and her hips making slow rocking movements against his that caused his eyes to roll back.

Neville wasn't new to sex. It wasn't his first time. But it was his first time with Lavender and there was much more to this than just in and out, back and forth, thrusting and thrusting.

Sex was one thing. Making love was entirely another.

In a movement that seemed more smooth in his head than he probably executed, Neville lifted her and turned the both of them so that she was lying on the sofa cushions, her knees still on either side of his hips. She kept her knees on either side of his hips, but shifted slightly so that her calves could press against his backside, pulling him against her, pulling him deeper. Breathy little sounds ghosted past his ear as he kissed her neck.

It was slow. It was sensual. He could lick and kiss her neck forever and be completely satisfied.

"Please," she whispered. "Neville... "

He paused and lifted his head to look at her. She touched his cheek and ran her thumb over his lips. He watched as the tip of her tongue poked out and ran along her lower lip just as her hips did an amazing sort of roll against his.

Oh _hang_ slow and sensual.

Pushing himself up, Neville began to rock faster and harder against her rolling hips and sensation after sensation rocketed up his spine. Lavender's head fell back against the sofa cushion and she still clung to his shoulders, her fingers digging into the muscle. This. This was brilliant. She was brilliant. He'd never felt like this, so absolutely and completely invested in simple and beautiful feeling and when she cried out and arched her back, her body clenching around him, he thought he might die from the bliss.

**[Lemon Almond Madeleines](http://mysteryrecipes.livejournal.com/1368.html)**

_Monday, 26 December, 2005_

"Come back to St Mungo's with me," Neville said, reaching around Lavender to grab another warm madeleine from the plate. He'd woken to the smell of lemon and what he'd thought was marzipan only to discover that she'd sneaked from the bed, stolen his shirt and begun baking. Despite the miserable weather outside, he figured that jogging was going to be a new activity on his schedule or he really was going to lose his job due to a pudgy stomach. She turned her head, raised her eyebrows and he darted in for a kiss. Cakey crumbs stuck to both their lips.

"I want to spend the afternoon with my parents and I'd like you to join me," he explained. "And before you say anything about it being family time and you really shouldn't or whatever, you're just as much family as my parents are."

"I am?" she asked, her cheeks pink.

Neville kissed her again and rested his forehead against hers. "You definitely are."

So once they'd dressed, the two of them headed for the hospital with a box of sweet smelling cakey-ness for the nurses. It was later than Neville would have liked to have left, but there had been a delay in the shower, brief as it was, which was entirely _not_ Neville's fault in the slightest. Turned out that sharing a shower to save time was not the best suggestion, but who could have known that her soapy hands would be so very distracting?

Not him. No not at all.

Watching from the other side of a stack of dominos that he was laying down with his father, not really playing with any sort of rules, Neville had to smile. Alice was back to braiding Lavender's hair and Lavender was chatting away about nothing in particular and it warmed his heart to watch it. At the end of the visit, he heard the familiar crinkle of a sweet wrapper being placed into his hand. His forehead furrowed because the wrapper didn't feel right as his fingers closed around it and Neville looked down at what his mum had given to him.

Oh.

_Oh._

The wrapper sitting in his palm was twisted tightly and folded around until it formed a little circle just big enough for a finger.

Alice had moved away from him when Neville looked at her, more intent on the dominos that her husband was pushing around the table. She didn't look at Neville, didn't communicate with him. She didn't call him by name, but somehow in amongst the spider webs of her mind there had been a moment of clarity. There had to have been. As they left the hospital, Lavender looped her arm around his waist and tipped her head so that it rested on his shoulder, little braids swinging about her face. Neville kept one hand in his pocket around that folded up piece of sweet wrapper and felt this rolling joy tumble about his stomach.

"I like your parents," she said with a happy sigh. "Somehow it always feels like they're listening and understanding."

"Yeah." Neville smiled. "I think they like you too."

**[Fin](http://mysteryrecipes.livejournal.com/3428.html)**


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